Asha's Arrival
by pari106
Summary: **NEW!: CHapter 9** My take on what this character's thoughts might be before coming to Seattle. A brief insight into Logan's past.
1. Default Chapter

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer: It all belongs to FOX (except Parker and Mike). The way the upcoming season is looking…I   
might not want it anyway.  
Rating: PG  
  
Warning: Spoilers for Season 2  
  
A/N: Okay, I heard about this character, and the "controversy" about her (is her coming to the show a good   
thing or a bad thing?) I can't decide either. So I thought I'd take a shot at her and see if that helps. Here is   
is: my spoiler-inspired interpretation of the Asha character. Let me know what you think.  
  
Summary: Asha, Logan. Asha Copeland loses everyone she cares about…except for one man. And they   
lost each other long ago. Now she must find Logan Cale and ask for his help. But, after all this time, can   
she still trust him?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/A/N: Notice, I put: Asha, Logan…NOT Asha/Logan. There's a difference. Believe me.   
  
  
  
  
Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
  
  
It was one of those moments of truth, and I knew it. One of those decisions that change your life.  
  
I looked around the dingy little hotel I'd been hiding out in until I could make up my mind. I looked   
around at the empty room. It wasn't right. So many men and women; so many *good* men and women.   
All we'd been trying to do was to make a difference. To do the right thing. And now they're all dead.  
  
If I stay here, I'll be dead, too.  
  
So, really…what choice do I have?  
  
I hesitate a moment longer, then look up at Parker, the set of my jaw and the gling in my eyes telling him   
I'd made my decision.  
  
"I'm sure," I tell him.  
  
Parker is older than me – about 55 or so, though his hair hasn't grayed and his face carries only a few   
wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He has dark hair and dark eyes. He was one of my brother's   
two most trusted friends at Yale, and soon, through the organization, he became mine, as well. Now my   
brother is dead, an all we have is each other.  
  
And, perhaps, one other. Though Parker has grown too weary of the world to believe it.  
  
He sighs.  
  
"Ash…  
  
He sits down next to me on the bed, and for just a moment the mask slips. The worry in his expression taps   
into my own anxiety; my fear and grief. No, my terror. My hands shake and my eyes sting, but I try to   
hold all of that back. And, eventually, the sensations subside and the mask is back in place.  
  
Now is not the time to loose control.  
  
"Asha, it's been a long time," he tells me.  
  
And despite the situation, I have to smile, remembering.  
  
Yes, it's been a long time. About a decade, I imagine. A decade ago I was 19 years old. Parker was 45 –   
an oddity at the ivy league university. He'd just lost his wife three years before, and had returned to school   
shortly after. Perhaps just to have something to take his mind off his grief more than anything else. He'd   
gone to high school with the dean of the campus.  
  
At the same time, my brother was 22. So was Logan.  
  
Logan Cale.  
  
The only friend I have left.  
  
I know what Parker is saying. I know he's questioning whether we can trust Logan. It's been a long time,   
and time can change people, especially in this corrupt world of ours.  
  
But I can't accept that it's changed Logan. Not Logan. Even back at Yale, before I left to study abroad,   
when he was really more my brother's friend than mine, I knew if anyone could survive this world   
unchanged, it was Logan. He never let anything change him. Not his socialist kin, not his self-centered,   
socialist peers. He was good. Like my brother, Mike.  
  
I have to believe that goodness still exists.  
  
If for no other reason than that my life depends on it.  
  
"We're talking about Logan, Park," I say.  
  
"Logan's a person, Asha," he responds. "Just like you or me. Time changes people. The world changes   
people," he says, as I knew he would.  
  
"Not Logan," I tell him, but I don't sound as sure as I'd like.  
  
Parker's insecurities are beginning to wear off on me. And I think I can trust Logan Cale, but then, I used   
to think a lot of things that aren't true. I used to think that I could make a difference. I used to think we   
could make a difference – me and Mike and the organization. Now it's just me and Parker. And all we've   
done is watch our friends die.  
  
"Mike loved him, Parker," I say now, and it's the truth. Mike had loved Logan like a brother. He'd loved   
the Cales, who were so unlike our own disapproving, hypocritical parents. And Mike had always been a   
good judge of character.  
  
It was I who always made the mistakes.  
  
Parker just looks at me, and I know he knows it's true. But the look he gives me says that he thinks he   
knows something else, as well.  
  
'Mike wasn't the only one," he says quietly. And I sigh.  
  
"Parker…" My voice is playfully teasing, and he raises his hands in the air.  
  
"Hey, it's true," he says.  
  
The situation isn't quite such that I can laugh, but I do shake my head.  
  
"I had a crush on him, Parker," I say, firmly. "When I was 19 years old. Don't make something out of   
nothing. Logan's my friend."  
  
He's the guy that took me to my senior prom, because no one else dared incur the wrath of my father.   
Daddy had wanted me to go with Brandon Erikson or Marshal Peters. Young men just as stuck up and self-  
centered as my old man.  
  
Logan was the guy I stayed up with on late nights, way into the next morning. He's always been a true   
insomniac. We'd watch old movies and cuddle up on the couch, eating sinful amounts of pizza.  
  
He was the guy who showed up at my high school graduation party in blue jeans, just because I mentioned,   
maybe once, how out of place I felt next to my mother in our expensive evening gowns. My mother had   
always been able to pull off the debutante look without a hitch, but I was never one for formal wear. Logan   
caused a scandal on the society pages that night, but I never thought, not even once, during that whole   
evening, about the stiff couture my mother had stuffed me in for the occasion.  
  
Logan's just my friend. The very best friend I have left, besides Parker.  
  
Parker just shakes his head, but I can see him wavering. The truth is, he loved Logan, too. He'd loved   
Mike, and it had hurt him when my brother was killed. He knows if I don't leave Chicago that I will be   
killed, as well, and he doesn't want that to happen.  
  
He doesn't really have a choice, either.  
  
I rest my hand on his, looking at him with mutual affection and concern.  
  
"You should come with me," I say. But I know he will shake his head even before he does, and my eyes   
begin to sting again.  
  
"My daughter's still here in the city somewhere," he reminds me. Odd that Parker is a father, but it's true.   
Despite his age, I don't think any of us ever really saw him as being that much older than us. Age was   
inconsequential. In college, he drank just like we did, he dated just like we did, and he thumbed his nose at   
society just like we did. He was always just our friend Park. And his daughter was like a favorite neice   
who we'd take turns babysitting on those rare occassions when Parker actually went out. I never saw him   
as a father figure, though I suppose I could have used one.  
  
He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes.  
  
"I can't leave," he tells me, and I see he is upset, too. It's not safe for him here. He knows it and I know it.   
It's not safe for his daughter here. In fact, there's a very good chance that his daughter is no longer here,   
speaking in the definitive sense. But there's also the slimmest chance that she is. And he won't leave until   
he finds out which.   
  
All I can do is nod.  
  
Then the tears start to fall, and we hold each other as I cry.  
  
Finally, after some time, I pull back, stemming the flow. I can't just keep crying like this. I would cry   
forever if I could.  
  
"Let's go," I say quietly, in some imitation of control.  
  
And we leave the dingy little hotel in the cover of night, hoping that I'm not wrong.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
One more author's note: Okay, there you have it. After I started writing this, I kind of forgot why I started. Does anyone even care about the Asha character? Let me know if I should write any more of this.  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
(Disclaimer and rating found in chapter 1)  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
It's nearly daybreak by the time I reach Seattle. It has taken me several days to get from San Fransisco to here.  
  
For once, I'm glad for my hedonistic little life in society's fish bowl. If it weren't for the Washington   
Post's social paper, I never would have known where to look. In the ten years since I left for Europe, I   
haven't been in touch with Logan once. I knew he and Mike spoke occassionally, but Mike never   
mentioned those conversations to me.  
  
At first, he didn't mention them because I didn't want him to. I told Parker I had had a crush on Logan,   
and that's true. But it was one hell of a crush. I've never told anyone, but a large part of the reason I chose   
foreign study was to escape Logan. To get away from my friend. From the guy who took me to the senior   
prom. From the man I fancied myself in love with.  
  
At first, I guess Mike sensed what I was doing. I thought if I distanced myself from Logan, my feelings for   
him would fade. And they have, I still tell myself. Anyhow, I didn't talk about him, and Mike sensed that I   
didn't want to hear about him. And I feel badly about this now, but I never returned Logan's calls, either,   
on the few occassions when he tried to get in touch with me. Crush or no crush, Logan was very important   
to me. I do love him as a friend. I always have. But cutting myself off from him was just something I had   
to do at the time.  
  
I never worried that something might have happened to him. What could have happened? Logan is Logan.   
He's the most self-sufficient person I've ever known. He's compassionate and caring, and I know that   
when he loves someone, he loves them passionately and loyally. But he doesn't'anyone. He's never really   
needed anyone. Perhaps that's why my crush on him hurt so badly. Because I knew he didn't need   
anyone. Not his friends, not his family, not his money. He loved us all, and he played the part of the   
dutiful young heir, but he never really needed any of it. He never needed me. That's Logan.  
  
Even after I got over him, Mike never brought Logan up. Simply out of habit, I guess, or because I never   
asked.  
  
I asked once, though. A few years ago I just casually sort of mentioned him. Asked how he was doing.   
  
Mike told me Logan was engaged to a girl named Daphne.  
  
I never asked again.  
  
And I guess he's married by now. God, I hope I'm not making a mistake by bringing my problems to him.   
I hope I'm not endangering his family. But the society pages said he was a cyber journalist, and there's   
rumors that he's been linked to Eyes Only. If that's true, then Logan can get me in contact with the man.   
And Eyes Only can get me a one-way ticket back to Europe, or to Canada or Mexico, or any damned place   
that isn't the morgue. That's all I need – just to get out of the country.  
  
If it's not true, I don't know what I'll do, but I won't cause Logan any trouble. I won't endanger his wife.   
His kids? Does he have children by now?  
  
I wonder if his wife has ever heard of me.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
(Disclaimer, rating, summary, etc. in chapter 1).  
  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
  
I don't know what I thought I'd find. Picket fences and a minivan? To tell you the truth, I don't suppose I   
really thought about it at all. So I didn't have any expectations about where Logan might be living these   
days. I mean, just because he's probably married by now with 2.5 kids, that doesn't mean he has to live in   
the suburbs.  
  
So I didn't have any expectations…or so I thought.  
  
I guess I thought wrong, because when I found myself standing outside Foggle Towers I felt…surprise.  
  
I was surprised. Despite all I'd said to Parker, I guess I didn't really expect Logan to be unchanged. I   
expected his sense of honor and integrity to still be the same. But other things… Maybe I was looking for   
picket fences and a minivan, I don't know. All I know is that the tall, sleek building in front of me looks   
exactly like somewhere the Logan Cale I used to know might live. And that's more surprising than if I had   
found him in the suburbs.  
  
I was right the first time. If anyone can survive this world of ours unchanged, apparently it's Logan.  
  
I wonder if he can say the same for me – in my dirty pair of blue jeans and oversized sweater. The clothes I   
am wearing are the only possessions I took with me from Chicago. There wasn't time for anything else.   
Parker tells me he will collect the rest when it's safe and send it to me, wherever I am settled by that time,   
but we both know that is unlikely. I will probably never see Parker again. Staying in Chicago now, even   
for the sake of his daughter, was suicide. It's true, but I try not to focus on that. I just can't.  
  
Now I stare up at Logan's building, and thinking twice of going inside, I turn the corner, circling the   
building through an alley. I look for a system of fire escape ladders to give me access to the building's   
roof, but find none. I don't really want to take the front door. There will undoubtedly be a security man on   
guard there, and if Logan isn't working with Eyes Only, if my presence here could put him in danger, I'd   
rather not be seen going into his place.  
  
I find a fire escape on one side, and I decide to climb it to the roof. The ladder is retracted, and I look   
around for something to give me a leg up, but there is nothing. So I simply have to jump until I can reach it   
and pull it down.  
  
I don't mind the physical exertion – in fact, I welcome it. It is a distraction. And I desperately need to be   
distracted.  
  
For so long I've been operating on automatic. I've had all these dark thoughts and horrible fears and all   
this pain churning around inside of me, but all that has been resting, dormant, beneath a numb sort of shock   
that had overcome my system.  
  
But now that shock is wearing off.  
  
I can feel it. My palms are sweaty, and my breathing is labored. I'm nervous and shaky and hungry and so   
damned scared. Mike is dead. My brother is dead. All of my friends or dead, and if this doesn't work out   
with Logan, I have no one else to turn to. Parker is back in Chicago. Jesus, why did I let him stay? That's   
what happens when you let yourself operate on automatic. You act without thinking. Because thinking   
will drive you mad.   
  
And now I'm so close to cracking I don't see why the whole world doesn't see the fault lines breaking   
through my calm reserve.  
  
Finally, I get the ladder down, and I race up it as if someone were chasing me.  
  
My heart is beating like wild – it has been ever since the shootout. I'm going to have a heart attack – I just   
know it. I'm twenty-nine years old, and I'm going to die of a heart attack. I know it, I know it…  
  
Oh, God, it's panic. That's what this is. The shock is wearing off and I'm panicking…  
  
At the one moment when I can not afford to panic. I have to keep going. I have to get to Logan.  
  
'hurry…hurry…hurry…'  
  
I am up the stairs and on the roof before I know it, wide eyes looking for an entry into the building,   
something. A sky light, maybe…  
  
I suddenly view a possibility. I find a skylight to the penthouse. Logan is supposed to live in the   
penthouse. But I have no rope.  
  
I stand by the skylight, debating. I look around me. Then I make a decision.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating found in chapter 1.  
  
A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing! Thanks to a fan for your helpful hints (you're right…I think it   
was supposed to be San Francisco…) Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.  
  
A/A/N: I know my original summary for this story was "Asha's thoughts"…and this story is that, in part.   
But I had to throw in a little of Logan's perspective, too. I just couldn't help it. Plus, I've actually had a   
request for "what Logan's thinking"…so that's my excuse ?  
  
  
  
Chapter 4  
Logan's POV  
  
  
The skylight.  
  
Why is it always the goddamned skylight?  
  
It's fitting, though, I suppose. Tonight, on almost the exact anniversary of Max's death, months ago…I   
guess it's fitting that they should come tonight. And through the skylight.  
  
I suppose it might not be Manticore. It could be anyone, really. I haven't exactly made a lot of friends   
since I lost Max. I guess I kind of went crazy without her. Then for her. I took stupid risks and I made   
some mistakes, but I did it all for her. To avenge her death.  
  
And I suppose it might not be Manticore sneaking through my skylight. It could just be some thief.  
  
My lips quirk at the thought.  
  
Yes, it could be a beautiful young woman sneaking through my skylight. Coming to swipe the statue of   
Bast, perhaps? What would be the odds?  
  
Besides, I sold that statue a long time ago. Along with anything else of value around here. No, it isn't a   
thief trying to break in. Everybody knows I don't have anything left to thieve. Except my computers. And   
those are hidden away. No self-respecting thief would try to turn this place over.  
  
So it's someone else.  
  
Someone I've been waiting for, no doubt.  
  
I've been waiting for Manticore to catch up with me.  
  
I've been sitting here all night, in front of the window here in my bedroom, staring out at the night sky. I'm   
slumped in my seat, wearing nothing but a wrinkled pair of trousers with my leg braces underneath. I   
haven't slept tonight. I don't sleep often, really. Not anymore. I was an insomniac before, but now…  
  
Who knows? Maybe that's yet something else I picked up from Max. The ability to go without sleep. Or   
maybe its just a symptom of the other thing I picked up from her – a broken heart.  
  
I've been just sitting here, but at the sound coming from the main room I freeze. Then I straighten in my   
seat. I know that sound.  
  
How could I not? It's the same sound that preluded Max's entry that first, fateful night that we met.  
  
Only now it's louder, noisier. Whoever Manticore sent must really be the runt of the litter. Because   
they're sloppy. Jesus, *I* could burglar a place more quietly than this guy. And I'm wearing a thirteen-  
pound metal exoskeleton, for crying out loud.  
  
I move slowly, calmly. Like I said, I've been waiting for this.  
  
I casually walk out of the bedroom, slipping the piece I had sitting by my bed into my hand as I go.  
  
I grab the old t-shirt I'd laid on a nearby chair and slip it on. Then I approach my would-be intruder, ready.  
  
As I do, I am struck by the irony of this situation.  
  
One year and several months ago, when Max had slipped down that same skylight, things had been very   
different. I was different. The world was different.  
  
When Max slipped down that skylight, she saw a sleek modern interior. Artwork on the walls; a computer   
room full of the latest technology. Expensive furniture; a full kitchen. Then she'd run into me. And I'd   
been so sure of myself then. So naïve, for all my belief in the opposite. I used to wear my hair short then,   
and one of my shirts, then, had probably cost more than my entire "ensemble", if you can call it that, cost   
now. In double.  
  
One year, and the tragic end of Max's life, ago, things had been very different. I was different. The world   
was different.  
  
Yet here I am, in the same penthouse in the same situation. And my intruder is coming through the same   
skylight.  
  
Always the goddamned skylight.  
  
I should have had it boarded up, but I hadn't had the heart to do it.  
  
I pause behind a corner, watching the intruder's entry point. Sure enough, snaking down from the ceiling,   
there is a ro…  
  
I blink.  
  
That's not a rope.   
  
And I lower my gun.  
  
"What the…"  
  
Then I walk closer.  
  
Well, it is a rope. A makeshift rope. Made of…a pair of jeans and a large shirt, apparently.  
  
My intruder is shimmying down my skylight using a rope made out of a pair of clothes.  
  
I really don't know what to think about that.  
  
Then I look up and see the intruder, and if I didn't know what to think before, now I'm just plain incapable   
of thought.  
  
I had joked that perhaps it was a beautiful woman breaking in to still the statue of Bast. Well, I had the   
beautiful woman part right.  
  
Only there's no Bast.  
  
And, apparently, that rope is made out of her clothes.  
  
Because she's naked. Well…mostly naked.  
  
And, no, I have not been without the company of a woman for so long that I've forgotten the proper   
protocol. I know that, when confronted by an attractive, scantily clad woman, your first reaction should   
probably not be to point a gun at her.  
  
But how many attractive, scantily clad women show up in the skylight in the middle of the night?  
  
I panic.  
  
And, suddenly, the aforementioned woman loses her grip on the rope and falls, the rest of the way into the   
main room, landing on the floor with a soft thud. And I'm standing here, pointing a gun at her.  
  
She looks up at me…and bursts into tears.  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Rating and Disclaimer in chapter 1.  
  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
It's amazing what having a gun pointed at you can do to a person's resolve.  
  
I couldn't help it. I began to cry.  
  
All the pain and fear and anxiety building up within me since the shootout just overwhelmed we. I'd been   
close to panicking before. Now I was over the edge.  
  
I didn't recognize Logan at first. If I'd thought before that it was eerie how he hadn't really changed, I was   
wrong.  
  
He was unrecognizable.  
  
All I saw when I dropped down that skylight was a tall, muscular man holding a gun. His clothes were   
inexpensive and wrinkled. I saw disheveled blond hair and a strong, unshaven jaw.   
  
But mostly I just saw the gun.  
  
That's all I needed to see. So, as I said…  
  
I couldn't help it. I began to cry.  
  
After all this time, all this trouble…I'd gotten it all wrong. I'd gotten the wrong address; the wrong man.   
I'd come all this way to escape the men who'd killed my brother, and now this stranger was just going to   
kill me instead. I couldn't take it.  
  
But my "killer" hadn't fired yet. And it didn't look like he was going to.  
  
As he noticed my tears, he lowered his gun.  
  
"Hey…" He was talking to me. I could hear his voice – he had a nice voice. Why was it familiar?  
  
I was starting to feel dizzy. I could feel a fainting spell coming on, and that made me even more upset.  
  
'God, not now!'  
  
The last thing I needed was to lose consciousness now. Though, perhaps, that would just be for the best.   
That way I wouldn't be awake when this man killed me.  
  
"Hey…it's alright."  
  
He began to approach, and I began to scoot away, but he wouldn't let me. The next thing I knew he was   
kneeling by my side, pulling me into his arms. Strong arms.  
  
"Shhh…it's okay," he comforted. Somehow that was worse than if he'd shot me. It was not okay!   
Nothing was okay! I began to cry louder. And he just held me, rocking me. "It's okay…it's going to be   
alright…" he kept repeating.  
  
I just couldn't get over how familiar that voice sounded to me.  
  
Then I felt something hard and metal strapped to his hip, beneath his clothes, as he settled me back down   
on the floor, off of his lap. Another gun?  
  
He was pushing my disheveled hair out of my face.  
  
"It's alright," he said again. "Whatever's happened. Whatever you're here for. It's going to be…"  
  
But then he stopped. His words just froze in his throat as though he'd forgotten them.  
  
I could sense him staring, so I looked up. And I felt myself freeze, as well.  
  
The hair, the clothes, the defensive posture, and the gun…I hadn't recognized any of that. The voice had   
seemed familiar. But the eyes…  
  
I could never not recognize those eyes.  
  
It was Logan.  
  
And he was staring at me with utter shock written across his face.  
  
"Asha?" he asked, almost as if he didn't believe it.  
  
Then I blacked out.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
  
  
Chapter 6  
Logan's POV  
  
  
Sudden recognition hits me. I can't believe it.  
  
Asha Copeland is lying, barely clothed, in my arms. It has to have been…  
  
Jesus, it has to have been a whole *decade* since the last time I saw her. When she left to study in Europe.  
  
I just can't believe it.  
  
"Asha?" I say, almost afraid to say the name aloud, as if it will make her disappear. A thousand questions   
flood my mind. Where has she been? What's happened? But mostly I just wonder if she's really here, or   
if Bling's right, and I have finally lost my mind.  
  
She looks up at me, eyes just as green as I remember them…  
  
And she faints.  
  
"Shit…"  
  
I scoop her up into my arms and lift her, then carry her into the guestroom, lying her down on the bed.   
She's freezing! I pull the blankets she is lying on up around her like a cocoon, trying to get her warm.  
  
"Asha?" I call out to her.  
  
I continue to brush the red-gold strands of her hair out of her face.  
  
She's so pale. And she's lost weight since the last time I've seen her…when's the last time she must have   
eaten?  
  
As I've said, so many questions flooded my mind when I realized it was her who'd broken into the   
penthouse. What had happened to her since I'd seen her last? What was she doing here? Asha's brother   
Mike is probably one of the best friends I've ever had. He was like a brother to me. Him and Park. Mike   
and Parker. Jesus, it's been a lifetime since I've thought of them. They're like family to me. Back when I   
was at Yale we were inseparable – them, me, and Asha, Mike's baby sister.  
  
Well, she'd been his baby sister.  
  
Once upon a time.  
  
I'd long ago learned that the "baby" half of the term "baby sister" is a largely relative term.  
  
But I haven't heard from any of them in so long. It was like she, Mike, and Park disappeared from the   
planet. And I was hardly in a position to force my acquaintance on anyone by trying to seek them out. In   
my line of work, friendships can be dangerous liabilities. Dangerous to my friends, mostly, as I've learned   
the hard way from first Peter, and then Max. I never sought them out after we lost touch because I never   
wanted to involve them with what I'd gotten myself into.  
  
And now Asha shows up, sneaking through my skylight.   
  
And all my questions take back burner to my concern.  
  
"Asha?…Asha, can you hear me?"  
  
I try to wake her up, not knowing if she's passed out from fright, or pain, or exhaustion. Is she hurt? Sick?   
There are rings beneath her eyes, so she has to be tired. What the hell happened to her?  
  
I pull back the blankets I'd just covered her with, with a lot more hesitation than I would have felt   
comfortable with.  
  
'Come on, Logan. It's just Asha.'  
  
This thought does not help as I'd hoped it would.  
  
I pull back the blankets and check for any injuries; any gunshot wounds or lacerations that I might have   
missed, carefully diverting my eyes from certain areas of the anatomy with which I refuse to concern my   
attention. That done, I cover her back up, and check her head and neck for bumps or bruises.  
  
Nothing.  
  
As I look her over, I berate myself. Why the hell did I let her fall down the goddamned skylight? Why did   
I point my freaking gun at her? Why…  
  
Then I notice that her eyes are open.  
  
"Asha…"  
  
She blinks, seeing me. And for a moment her eyes are still vacant. She doesn't recognize me, I can see it.  
  
She starts to struggle.  
  
"No!"  
  
But I keep the blankets tight around her and I stroke her hair, trying to soothe her.  
  
"It's okay! Asha, it's okay. It's Logan." I search her eyes, hoping to find realization dawning there. "I'm   
Logan. Remember me?"  
  
Despite the situation, I smile, and the gesture is tender. 'I'm the guy who took you to the senior prom,   
remember?' I'd been her date. Then I stepped on her foot so hard she sprained something. It was horrible.   
Ash said it was okay – that the "coolness factor" of showing up at the dance with a hot college guy more   
than made up for having to leave with a limp.  
  
I can see that she's starting to come to now.  
  
"Ash, you remember me?  
  
Slowly, she comes to her senses and begins to really look at me.  
  
"Logan?" she asks, weakly. She sounds so frail, I actually feel my eyes sting. What could have possibly   
happened to make her this way?  
  
"Logan?" she repeats.  
  
And I give her a smile.  
  
"Yeah, Ash, it's me."  
  
She immediately bursts into tears.  
  
Not just little tears, but big, wracking sobs. The kind that steal your breath and shake your entire body.  
  
I can't do anything but just take her in my arms and hold her, rocking her. I feel a tear of my own slip out   
the corner of one eye.  
  
Funny, I'd cried rivers after Max died. And since then I'd come to the conclusion that I was no longer   
capable of it. I guess I was wrong.  
  
My hand fists in Asha's hair as I hold her to my chest. She's grabbed my waist and she clings to me as if   
her life depended on it.  
  
"Jesus, Asha, what the hell's happened?" I ask, my voice cracking just a bit.  
  
She can't answer. She just continues to cry until she doesn't have the strength to shed another tear. She   
cries herself to sleep.  
  
And I hold her the entire time.  



	7. Chapter 7

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters, etc., herein belong to the fine folks down at FOX. And to Cameron and Eglee,   
of course – the daddies of this particular brainchild.  
  
A/N: Sorry if this was a little long in coming. Been distracted. September 11 and all that. Plus various   
other, unrelated tragedies down here in TX. I think my focus is still a little off. So I hope I did okay with   
this. Let me know! Thanks for having patience with me and checking in for this update.  
  
  
Chapter 7  
Logan's POV  
  
From the moment I realized Asha Copeland had come back into my life, she became my responsibility. It   
wasn't something I thought about, really. There wasn't much to think about. Asha is, by some rights,   
every bit a part of my family as Max's fellow Manticore soldiers had been a part of hers. She's more than   
just another day's work as Eyes Only, looking out for the downtrodden. Though, if anyone has ever   
embodied the term "downtrodden", Asha does so now. It's like the world has beaten her into the ground   
and walked right over her. I know the feeling. And I won't rest until I'm certain she's pulled herself back   
up again.  
  
Asha is Mike's little sister. She's an old friend. I realize that she may be my chance at reconnecting with   
my past. But she's more than that, too.   
  
I don't know exactly what she is to me. But if nothing else, I know she has become a focus in my life that   
has been missing for entirely too long.  
  
The morning after she arrived, I arranged everything she could possibly need. I got a doctor who could see   
her here at the penthouse, and I had a store downtown send over some packages. The clothing is nowhere   
near the same quality the Copelands used to lavish upon their daughter ten years ago, but I dare say they're   
a good step up from the makeshift rope Asha'd used to drop back into my life. And I did all this before   
Bling even showed up for the day.  
  
When he did, I didn't mention the traumatized redhead sleeping in the guestroom. Not right away. I guess   
Asha and Mike and Park were kind of my little secret over the years. My past. I don't talk about it now –   
those years of my youth, high school, Yale. Not because they were bad times – in fact, they were probably   
the best times of my life. Except for the times when I had Max by my side. I guess I just never talked   
about them because talking about them here, in this place, in this life as Eyes Only…would be kind of like   
bringing them into this life. And of connecting the two. I didn't want that. I wanted to be able to view my   
life before Eyes Only, and my life after, as two totally separate experiences. I love my work. As much as I   
hate it, resent it, I love it. And it's more than that – I need it. I need to help people. But I also need to   
remember a time when all I was, was just another person. Just for times when Eyes Only seems less like a   
job and more like a sentence. Particularly now since Max has been gone.  
  
I didn't mention Asha right away. First out of habit, then out of uncertainty. How do you tell someone you   
have a woman possibly on the verge of a nervous breakdown camping out in the back room? How do I tell   
Bling? I knew he would wonder about her. About where she came from, how I knew her. I knew he   
would wonder why I'd never mentioned her before. Especially to him. We've never said as much before,   
but Bling knows I consider him to be the closest thing I have to a brother. Like Mike and Asha and Park   
were, Bling is my family now. I'd feel silly admitting it, but that's how I think of him. I have ever since   
that last night on the Space Needle, when Max looked at me and told me I was a part of her family. Ever   
since my parents' deaths I've looked for that. For a family. That family I lost when I lost contact with my   
friends, and lost when I lost my mom and dad. I looked for it with Valerie, and that didn't work. But   
somehow I'd found it with Max. And doing so made me look at family in a totally different way. Made   
me look at the people in my life in a different way. So, yeah, Bling is my family. And I knew he'd wonder   
what was so important about this woman that I wouldn't mention her even to him.  
  
I didn't know if I could give him the explanation.  
  
But I had to tell him something. I could only steer him away from the guestroom for so long before he'd   
become suspicious of my motives. Besides, this is Bling we're talking about. It suddenly felt silly to be   
keeping anything from him.  
  
We'd done a little remodeling here in the penthouse over the months since we lost Max. My computers   
and files are now located in a little room you can only enter through a hidden entry point in my closet. I   
remember, the day after we set it up, I couldn't even go in there. Mostly because I was picturing in my   
head how Max would react if she were there. She'd probably smirk at me and make some crack about   
secrecy and super heroes with their hidden lairs. I couldn't go in the room because it hurt so badly that she   
wasn't there to tease me about it.  
  
Anyhow, when I told Bling about Asha we were in the computer room, going over a case. I found myself   
becoming more and more distracted by thoughts of my new charge, and I kept zoning out of the   
conversation Bling was trying to have with me. Eventually, Bling caught me in the middle of a reverie, and   
snapped me out of it by turning my computer off.  
  
I blinked.  
  
"What…"  
  
"So, are you gonna tell me now? Or are you gonna sit there, not listening to me, and not talking, until I   
beat it out of you?"  
  
I had to smile. That's Bling for you.  
  
"Wanna try?"  
  
Okay, I'll admit it. Since I've been back on my feet I've gotten cocky. Or maybe it's just that, since I lost   
Max, I simply don't give a shit anymore. But after I learned how to use the braces to walk, I wanted to   
learn how to use them in other ways, as well. Bling's been teaching me self-defense. Karate and Judo and   
all of that. I've found the lessons to be not only helpful, but therapeutic. Particularly at times when Bling   
is being particularly protective. 'You need to get out more, Logan.' He's said so many times. 'You   
haven't been eating well. What, did you forget how to cook?' Then, of course, there's this one: 'You need   
to talk about her Logan. About Max. It'll help.' Like hell, it would help. But sparring with Bling does   
help a little.  
  
I know he could kick my ass if he wanted to…  
  
But it still helps.  
  
However, right then I was just pulling his leg, stalling for time, and Bling knew it. He rolled his eyes.   
  
"Something's come up…" I finally admitted, slowly. "It's a…sensitive matter. I didn't know quite how to   
tell you." I felt like an idiot.  
  
Bling frowned, irritation being replaced by concern on his face. I maneuvered my chair out of the   
computer room – I wasn't wearing my braces that day, nor am I today – and Bling followed.  
  
"Hey, man, you know you can tell me anything."  
  
We reached the guestroom and I stopped at the door, my hand on the doorknob.  
  
"Yeah, Bling. I know," I told him sincerely.  
  
"So…what is it?" he asked.  
  
I suing the door open. His eyes went into the room and widened in surprise when he saw the occupant   
within. I kept my eyes on his face till he turned back to me.  
  
"Not 'what'," I said. "Who."  
  
Then I, too, looked in on Asha, who was still sleeping soundly in my guest bed.  
  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
"Just like that?" Bling asked, after I'd finished my long explanation. I've told him all about my friendship   
with the Copelands and with Parker back at Yale. Then I told him about how I found Asha last night. Or   
rather, how she found me. How she'd shown up after ten years, unannounced. Yeah, just like that.  
  
I just raised a brow. I know it's a little peculiar. After all this time, Asha Copeland just happens to drop   
into my penthouse? And she just happens to arrive on mine and Max's anniversary? And her appearance   
just happens to coincide with a time when any number of people could have been creeping through that   
skylight. Not one of which would have done so with anything but murderous intentions.  
  
But then, life has become peculiar these last couple of years.  
  
"So what now?" Bling asked. I appreciate his not questioning my reasons for never having mentioned Ash   
before. I wonder if he just instinctively senses why. He knows me so well.  
  
"Now she stays here till she's up on her feet. It's the least I can do," I said. And it's true. To be honest, I   
feel guilty. Asha and Mike's parents passed away a few years ago. They were both well up in age when   
they'd finally decided to have children, and I'd heard that Mrs. Copeland had been diagnosed with cancer.   
Not that the proud, aging socialite would ever have wanted sympathy for that fact. But I should have gone   
to their funeral. I should have been there for Mike and Asha, even if they hadn't been close to their   
parents. Even if I never saw them at my own parents' funeral. I had my work to sustain me once mom and   
dad were gone. Who knows if Mike or Asha had the same? But at the time of the funeral, Eyes Only was   
in the middle of a volatile case that couldn't be postponed. I sent my condolences, and rang the florists in   
San Francisco, but I have no way of knowing whether Mike and Asha received either.  
  
"Once she's feeling a little better, I'll see if I can get her to talk about why she came here," I said then,   
snapping out of my reverie. "About what happened. And why she's not with Mike."  
  
That worries me. Asha and Mike were both very close. If something had happened, why wouldn't she   
have gone to Mike? Unless something had happened to Mike?  
  
That worries me a lot. I'm hoping my worries are unfounded, but I dread that they are not. I have an   
uneasy feeling that I'm about to learn the worst. And I've lost so many people that were close to me. My   
parents, Nathan, Peter. My Uncle Jonas, though I have no idea how I really feel about that. Max. Now   
losing her…I know how I feel about that. But I try not to think about it unless I'm alone or drunk. Or   
asleep, dreaming. Or any combination of the three.   
  
Anyhow, I've lost people that were close to me before, so I guess I should just feel numb at the prospect.   
That's usually how I end up after a night of dreaming of or drinking to forget Max. Numb. Empty. But   
mostly, thinking that something might have happened to Mike, I just feel…surreal, I guess. I've lost people   
before, but not Mike or Asha or Park. Not from before Eyes Only. I guess that was another reason I cut   
myself off from them. What you don't know…right? As long as I had this image in my head of what we'd   
been like, back then, studying or avoiding studying or just goofing off…it was like a part of us would   
always remain that way.  
  
Only now I know we didn't all remain that way. I'm certainly not the man I was in college. And Asha   
isn't herself. What about Mike and Park?  
  
Bling and I looked up as there was a sudden ring at the door. It was the doctor.  
  
"I'll get it," Bling offered, and I nodded.  
  
The doctor looked Asha over without her ever waking up. That worried me, as well, but the doctor said   
sleep was probably the best thing she could do right now and that we should let her be. He told me she   
should come around with time and that he would check back in to make sure. He also recommended I   
contact a therapist. Considering the state Asha was in when she dropped in here, it would be wise. But   
then, I've been told the same thing myself. But I'll be damned if I'll include any more doctors in my life   
than I have to. The last two years have just been an endless procession of doctors and treatments. I'll let   
Asha decide who she wants to share her problems with, once she comes around and is able to consider the   
issue. I don't even know what's happened to her. I can't involve anyone else in her affairs until I do.  
  
It's now been a couple of days that Asha's been here. She's waken up from time to time, but we haven't   
talked much. The first few times she awoke, it was just to look around and take in her surroundings.   
Perhaps to remind herself of where she was and who she was with? I've managed to get her to eat   
something. Besides Bling's little smirks and the occasional "Hey, there's an idea. Next time I want to get   
you to eat I'll just spoon-feed you" I've been satisfied with the speed of her recovery.   
  
Today she's even ventured out of the guestroom. I've been in the computer room all morning, but now I   
wheel out and there she is. Asha. Standing by the window, looking out at Seattle. She's wearing one of   
the outfits I'd had sent here for her.   
  
She's gorgeous. Just as beautiful as I remember her. But so fragile.  
  
For a moment I'm just…struck. By how long it's been and how much has happened. In both our lives,   
obviously. And by how the bond is still there after all this time. The bond of friendship; that   
protectiveness over the "runt" of our bunch, Mike's kid sis. Though Asha has hardly ever been a runt. And   
though I'm not quite sure my protective instincts are still based on the fact that Ash is Mike's little sister…  
  
For a moment, I just sit there staring at her. Then I make a decision.  
  
I'm going to cook for her. God only knows why that's the first thing that comes to my mind, but it is. I   
haven't cooked a full meal since…well, since Max died. But tonight I'm going to cook for Asha.  
  
And, I swear, if Bling ribs me about this… I'm going to change all the locks around here.  



	8. Chapter 8

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
Disclaimer, etc, found in chapter one.  
  
A/N: Ha! Bet you thought I'd forgotten this one, huh? (I am speaking, of course, to those of you who didn't forget about this one yourselves :P) But I've picked it up again... So please let me know what you think. Lots of gratitude to anyone who does. And speaking of gratitude...  
  
Lots of Thanks: to afan, for your awesome betaing :) Thank you so much. Again ;)  
  
  
  
Chapter Eight…  
  
  
  
Have you ever had a recurring dream? Or should I say nightmare? The   
kind that keep coming back, but you never realize it's about to happen again until it already has?  
  
The first few days I spent at Logan's, recovering from San   
Francisco…they were kind of like that, like one long, recurring nightmare. I was in bed the whole time. I can't even tell you, for sure, when I was asleep and when I was awake…everything seemed so surreal. I slept a lot, though; I know that. Sometimes I'd sleep for hours without a single dream…just dark, black nothingness so thick I had to fight to open my eyes whenever I came back out of it. Sometimes my head was haunted with images; memories. That's where the recurring nightmare analogy comes in. Every time the memories returned they returned the same way. And they were just as terrifying each time they did. Memories of that last, fateful day of the S1W…memories of Mike, dying in my arms. So much blood… Memories of all of them dying; all my friends. Memories of Park's face as I left San Francisco. And every time I woke up I woke up the same way. Drenched in sweat and breathing like I'd just run a marathon.   
  
I never could break the cycle by telling myself it was all just a   
dream. Because, really, I knew it wasn't. But it is over with…San Francisco is over with. Here at Logan's I'm safe now; I know that somehow, even though I still haven't had the chance to really talk to him. I know I'm safe by the look in his eyes when he looks at me; the comfort in his touch when he brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, or gently shakes my shoulder to wake me for medication or food. I know that at least I am safer than I have been since the day Mike died.  
  
But telling myself this didn't really help, either. At first. I guess   
now I'm finally starting to come out of it. Out of the nightmare, anyhow. Doesn't mean my time awake is any less frightening, or that my time asleep is any less tormented, but at least I can tell the difference between the two this morning. At least when I   
woke up …yeah, I was breathing hard again, yeah, my heart   
still beat like it was trying to break free from my chest…at least I could understand why. I could understand and, as I sat there in bed, gripping Logan's bed sheets in tight, little fists…I could try to calm myself down.   
  
Then I stumbled into his shower.   
  
I remembered Logan having told me that this was his guestroom and bath,   
and that I was welcome to use both. I remember him helping me into the shower at one point during this past week, but I don't remember much about it. Right now I still haven't quite recovered enough to be embarrassed about that either. The surreality remains. And everything I think, everything I feel and experience, seems to be thought, felt,   
experienced outside myself. It's another stage of the shock I went into on Logan's roof the night I showed up, I know. And I know it will pass. But right now I'm not concentrating on that. As I showered this morning, I didn't concentrate on that. It was hard enough just concentrating on getting into the shower stall and getting some business done on two legs so shaky they could barely remain standing.  
  
It helped that Logan's shower seems outfitted to accommodate a person   
in my condition. There are bars on the wall, and a seat in its corner. I'm not sure about their purpose…unless Logan makes a habit of housing   
traumatized and/or invalid houseguests. But regardless I'm thankful   
for the convenience. I feel like I haven't walked in ages. I probably haven't. There's no telling how long I've been in Logan's guestroom,   
sleeping off the terror.  
  
Anyhow, that shower felt excellent. It felt excellent to stumble out,   
clean and decent, to find some clean and decent clothing waiting for me in "my" room. I must have spent an hour under the shower's spray, lathering and relathering my body with soap. Now I'm sure the scent   
has been permanently impressed upon my skin. And standing here in Logan's living room, looking out at Seattle, I'm reveling in the sensation of smelling like something other than sweat or dirt or blood. I'm reveling in the feeling of cleanliness, even if my mind feels no more clean than it had when I got here. And now, after having showered, I do feel a little more aware of myself and my surroundings. A little more alert.  
  
Now I am suddenly aware of Logan sitting on the other side of the living room. 


	9. Chapter 9

Asha's Arrival  
by pari106  
  
Disclaimer, etc, found in chapter one.  
  
Chapter Nine…  
  
  
  
"Good morning," he says.   
  
I'm not so sure about that. But it's definitely better than the last couple of dozen   
mornings I can remember.  
  
"Morning," I say. I think I even smile as I do. Feels strange to smile again, after   
everything, but there it is all the same. It's kind of hard not to smile and to feel like this   
is a good morning, after all… With Logan sitting there, smiling at me, the only image   
from my dreams to persist into reality. Thankfully.  
  
Logan, wow. I take the first real, long look at him since I got here. Shaggy hair, yes…   
A very different look for him. But not bad, exactly. Cute even.   
  
Okay, so perhaps "cute" isn't exactly the word for Logan Cale. But let's not go there.  
  
He's dressed differently than before. In cargo pants and a sweater.   
  
"Feeling a little better?" he asks. Mostly, I think, because what else do you say to   
someone who's dropped, naked and crying, through your skylight after a ten-year   
absence?  
  
"I'll live," I hear myself say, off-hand. But it's the wrong thing to have said. Because it   
reminds me of certain facts that I don't need to be reminded about.  
  
I drop into a chair with a kind of shaky sigh, and I guess my thoughts are clear by my   
expression, because I see Logan's face go soft and concerned.  
  
"Hey…"  
  
He wheels closer to me, and I…  
  
Wait.  
  
*Wheels* closer? Oh…my God, is that a *wheelchair*?  
  
I don't mean to stare; I really don't. God knows I don't want to make Logan   
uncomfortable. But I can't help it. It *is* a wheelchair. Logan is sitting in it, and I don't   
understand why. He was walking the night I arrived…wasn't he? I remember him   
standing over me. Or am I really that screwed up? Now that I'm constantly plagued by   
memories, I can't even trust what I remember?  
  
But Logan must see the surprise on my face; the confusion. Something flickers through   
his eyes – I'm not sure what – but his smile returns, softer and sadder than before, as he   
answers my unspoken question. Sort of.  
  
"It's a long story," he tells me. "And I guess we're full of those right now, aren't we?" I   
guess we are.  
  
"It's been a long time, Asha," he says, and I look down at our hands as he takes mine in   
his own. It's been too long.  
  
"What happened?" Logan asks.  
  
God…  
  
What hasn't happened?  
  
Images of the last ten years pass through my mind. Images of the last month. And of   
Mike. The excitement in his eyes, the day we got our first big lead on the Delgado   
case… The anger and the hurt pride that was there during our last, big argument. The   
look on his face as I held him, the night he died. The night Delgado got the drop on all of   
us, and the S1W was executed.  
  
It was an execution basically, A slaughter. Delgado's men came at us when we are all at   
HQ, planning our next move. His men came in with gun's blazing. Literally. We didn't   
have time to fight back. We just fled. I saw Parker and a couple of others duck out one   
way, and I helped Mike (who'd already taken two hits that I saw – one to the shoulder,   
and one to the leg) out the other.  
  
Then we had to keep moving, as far and as fast as we could. Farther than I wanted. I   
wanted to stop, to see just how bad Mike had taken the hits, but I couldn't. We'd left HQ   
in Mike's old Chrysler, through a hail of gunfire, with Mike "passing out" almost   
immediately, in the back seat. I couldn't risk stopping till I knew none of those goons   
were on our tails. It wasn't till later – too late – that I realized Mike had taken a third   
shot after we'd already gotten in the car.  
  
He'd taken a shot to the stomach.  
  
I didn't understand what that meant, at first. I guess I couldn't get my head around it.   
Didn't want to. Still don't. I couldn't understand why Mike's blood looked so much   
darker than blood usually looks… I'd never seen anyone die from a gunshot wound   
before. I never… I…  
  
Oh, fuck, I can't breathe…  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
"Asha? Asha?"  
  
I hear Logan's voice, as if from a great distance away, and no more than a minute,   
maybe, has passed since I blacked out, but it feels like I've just woken up from a night's   
sleep all over again.   
  
"Logan?" I ask weakly. I feel so disoriented. But I don't think he really hears what I say.  
  
"Shh. It's okay. It's alright. It's too soon, don't worry about it."  
  
Too soon to talk about what happened? Yeah. And, damn it, I feel like crying again.   
Because it will *always* be too soon to talk about what happened. But it doesn't worry   
me. Nothing worries me. Because the only person I have left to worry about is myself.   
I'm starting to realize that now.  
  
"I'm sorry, Asha," Logan's saying. "I know you've been through a lot. I shouldn't have   
pressured you. Just take it easy. You don't have to tell me anything until you're ready,   
okay?"  
  
I shake my head. "You don't have to apologize, Logan," I say. But, again, even my own   
voice sounds as if it's someone else's. The disorientation is passing, but slowly.  
  
"I just want to help you," Logan says. I know that. And it's surprising to me, through   
the numbness that's taken over my body since Mike and the others died, that I can feel   
Logan's hand when he touches my cheek, but I can. His touch is more real to me than   
anything else I've felt since leaving San Francisco, and I cling to it. I put my hand over   
his and just revel in the simple comfort of human contact. I don't even realize there's a   
silence to be broken until Logan breaks it.  
  
"It's good to see you again, Asha," he says. And when he finally draws his hand back I   
feel colder than I should for the absence of his touch. 


End file.
